


Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon

by openmouthwideeye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmouthwideeye/pseuds/openmouthwideeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus: "never tickle a sleeping dragon"</i> </p><p>Brienne Tarth begins her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unaware of the magic and mysteries she'll unearth along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year: Brienne

**Author's Note:**

> I knew JB would pull me back in eventually. It was just a matter of where and when. The when turned out to be 2015 and as for the where . . . Hogwarts. Obvs. Fair warning, I'm intending this to be a 7 part series. Some years will be shippy, some will not (some will even mention *gasp* other canon ships), but this is Brienne-centric and JB at its core, so I'm not tagging the other ships. I doubt that will be a problem for anyone, but if you'd like a heads up, feel free to message me on tumblr.
> 
> *Big thanks to Isy for looking this over at the last second, even though she's off enjoying the marvels of choir travel.

First Year

Brienne Tarth would never intentionally go wandering around Hogwarts after curfew. She’d been searching for a girl from her dormitory, a thin, dark haired Muggleborn who’d gone to the library and never made it back, when she’d stumbled into an unfamiliar corridor. Most of the corridors were unfamiliar — she’d only been at school two weeks — but she’d thought she could get back to the Hufflepuff common room without getting lost. She’d figured the older students’ were joking when they insisted the corridors liked to change, but now she wasn’t so sure. Surely she hadn’t gotten _that_ turned around in the dark.

A scuffle pierced the silence, the whisper of cloak on flagstone, and for half a moment Brienne thought she was saved.

_Mr. Varys! The caretaker is almost as good as a teacher. I’ll tell him I got lost and -_

But she remembered how the smile had dropped off Renly’s face when he'd warned, “Better caught in Peeves’ web than the Spider’s.” It was the first time she’d ever seen him looking somber.

“Peeves isn’t waiting to coax out your sins and sell your soul to the highest bidder.” The rough-looking boy might’ve tried to smile, but a scar trapped half his mouth in broken stone. “Better to know your enemy than be caught from behind.”

“I heard he drops students into the Black Lake,” another student chimed in. “Part of some bargain with the merpeople.”

Renly had laid into the boys for frightening her, but the memory of that second year’s smile made the whispers in the dark corridor sound sinister.

Brienne clutched her wand and set her feet, torn between her fear of Varys and the niggling suspicion that escaping him would mean breaking more rules.

A muffled laugh reverberated behind the wall to her left, echoing hollowly before a sharp shushing cut it short. It took Brienne a minute to place the frowning stone gargoyle from the path to her Potions class.

_The dungeons!_

If another student were out of bed down there, surely they would take pity and point her towards the kitchens?

“Could that be a student out of bed?” The voice scraped down the corridors so faintly she thought her guilt might’ve conjured it.

Brienne abandoned her defensive posture, taking the stairs as quickly as she could without giving herself away. The sounds were coming from the Potions classroom. Brienne couldn’t imagine why anyone would be in the Potions room after dark; it was spooky enough with Professor Pycelle around. But she’d seen a group of Slytherins heading towards the dungeons after supper the night before and figured that if their common room were nearby, they were probably used to the dungeons after dark.

The door was cracked, an unearthly glow spilling out into the hallway. Brienne pushed the door open, blinking for a moment at the suspended ball of light floating in a corner of the room.

“Jaime,” a voice whispered, bringing her attention to the squirming mass of robes in the center of the room. “ _Jaime_ ,” the girl repeated more harshly. A slender fist appeared out of the dark to beat the dark shape. The mass separated, resolving into a tall boy leaning over a work table and a blonde girl sprawled out beside an overturned cauldron.

Brienne may have only been a first year, but even she could recognize the handsome boy in the crooked red and gold tie. She’d thought that the golden beauty beneath him was his sister, but -  

Jaime Lannister dug into his half-done robe and yanked out his wand, aiming it at Brienne, but the Slytherin girl grabbed his wrist, digging so tightly that white crescents appeared beneath her nails.

“Do you want to bring the Spider down on us?”

“She could tell the headmaster,” Jaime snapped.

“She’s just a stupid first year,” the girl said. “She doesn’t even know who we are.”

But Brienne did know who they were. The twin looks in their eyes confirmed it: part fear, part disdain, part headrush. She didn’t mean to deny it by shaking her head, but then, she didn’t want to be hexed, either.

“Look, she’s stupid afraid.” The girl laughed, a giddy, mocking sound. “She might as well be under a Tongue-Tying Curse.”

Jaime shook off his sister’s hand to raise his wand. “I’m doing a Memory Charm, at least.”

The girl sighed and slid off the desk, fixing her hair with one hand as she rooted through her robes with the other. “Let me do it. You’re rubbish at anything but DADA."

Brienne didn’t wait for Cersei Lannister to find her wand. She fled, feeling like a coward. A spell singed her hem, trailing smoke up the darkened stone passageway until she burst into the corridor above.

Varys stood a scant foot from the dungeon entrance, seemingly unruffled by her sudden appearance. She’d been so overwhelmed by the horror in the dungeons that she’d forgotten what had driven her belowground in the first place.

“Out of bed at this hour,” he murmured, hands folded calmly. “That’s rather surprising, Miss Tarth. It’s also — rather regrettably — against the rules.”

Brienne let her head drop, studying her trainers as her heart thudded loudly beneath her robes. Not even a month at Hogwarts and she’d already landed in more trouble than she’d thought possible. Her mother had never gotten a single detention; not once in seven years.

 _Dad will be so disappointed_ , came the distant, miserable thought. But she had a hard time feeling anything but grateful as she trudged after the caretaker to receive her punishment, the dark dungeons dwindling behind her.

  


	2. Fourth Year: Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Jaime wanted was a nice, normal birthday with his twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this fic was supposed to be Brienne-centric. Yes, Jaime insisted on speaking up. ~~Sorrynotsorry~~.

** Jaime **

Fourth Year

 

Jaime rolled his shoulder, wincing as pain lanced down his arm. A second ache throbbed dully, buried under his ribs like it thought he might ignore it if it burrowed deeply enough. That blasted treasure-sniffer had probably cracked a rib, even discounting the more obvious injuries. He hadn’t exactly discouraged Tyrion when his brother had ducked into the Magical Menagerie over the holidays, looking positively Slytherin about whatever he’d cooked up for Cersei’s birthday gift. Jaime knew the futility of trying to hinder the game of one-upmanship his siblings had been locked into since Tyrion had gotten sorted.

Still, his health might benefit from asking a few questions.

He flexed the fingers of his left hand, feeling the smooth cedar bend in his grip. It felt odd to hold his wand with his off hand. There shouldn’t have been a difference. Same fingers, same muscles, same magic. His right hand twitched, echoing the familiar motion. Pain lanced through his wrist like a sharply focused stinging jinx.

Jaime grit his teeth, frustrated all over again by his sister’s obstinance. Most days he wouldn’t have minded a trip to the Hospital Wing. Most days he could’ve coaxed Cersei up from the dungeons to twiddle her thumbs at his bedside. The Owlery was a short walk from the Hospital Wing, and for all that she sniped about shit on her shoes and feathers in her hair, she never complained when he had her trapped against a stone column, high above the Hogwarts grounds.

He grimaced, glancing down at the jagged white bone protruding from his hand.

“To give your feminine charms a rest,” Tyrion had said, handing over a small, wrapped box that shook faintly from time to time. His mild smile said he’d been particularly pleased with himself.

From the mistrust that sprang to Cersei’s eyes, Jaime had wondered if she would even bother opening it. She had a small mountain of useless trinkets, gifts owled in from distant relatives or delivered by house elves from sycophantic classmates. But she’d flicked her wand toward Tyrion’s gift and watched the paper tear neatly away. The package had no lid, so there was nothing to keep the creature contained. The little yellow beast had wreaked havoc on the girls’ dormitory, moving faster than a Snitch in the gloomy, greenish room. Irritation hadn’t concealed Cersei’s pleasure as she watched it upend trunks and smash inkwells, unearthing Galleons, jeweled pins, and a shiny new lunascope from her dormmates’ belongings.

Then it had honed in on the serpent glittering above the soft curve of Cersei’s breast. Jaime had lunged for the Niffler seconds before she’d lobbed a blasting curse at it. Now the poor beast was dead and Jaime couldn’t move his arm without wanting to hex someone.

“The least you could do is come with me,” he’d cajoled. He sent her his best smile, though the throbbing in his arm made him want to grimace. “Last time we were alone for a whole hour before Qyburn finished fetching potions.”

“Keep it down,” his sister had hissed, looking over her shoulder. Their brother had squatted down to study the creature’s corpse, looking for all the world like his ears had been sealed shut. “We don’t need another near miss, Jaime. Or do I need to remind you about the mishap after the Halloween Feast?” She put a sardonic twist on the word “mishap,” reminding Jaime how poorly the word fit his carelessness.

Dimly, he remembered another near miss, an ugly, stuttering witch interrupting their first rendezvous of third year. But that hardly counted. Cersei insisted there was no way an out-of-house first year could’ve recognized them in the dark. Father hadn’t transferred him to Durmstrang yet, so he figured she must’ve been right.

“Everyone thinks I snuck in to snog Melara Heatherspoon,” he’d reminded, loudly enough that Tyrion could’ve heard, if he’d been paying attention. “Even Melara.”

Cersei’s face had soured. “Don’t let anyone see you,” she’d said, turning to survey the damage.

It had always been their nature: Cersei dictating, Jaime acting. But sometimes he remembered their adventures as children and wished she hadn’t stamped out that Gryffindor glint in her eye.

He’d snuck out through a secret panel they’d discovered in their second year, thinking he might rather throttle her than snog her. Still, he knew she’d be waiting and willing when he got back. Fifteen years ago they’d come into the world together; the Headmaster himself couldn’t have kept either of them from the Tapestry Corridor storeroom that night.

A jet black blur streaked across the hall, arresting his thoughts. Jaime jerked to a halt, thanking the gods he still had a nose. The Bludger skidded to a stop and hung midair in the empty corridor, vibrating gently. He ducked on instinct as, without warning, it zipped back the way it’d come, whistling through the air as it barrelled through the open window.

_Crack_.

Jaime ducked again. He straightened, berating himself for a fool, and watched the Bludger streak over a low turret, sailing smoothly into the open blue sky. He strode toward the window, favoring his injured arm as he leaned out to watch the Bludger wheel back around and dive-bomb a figure below. At first he thought it was the younger Clegane — or maybe Robert Baratheon — but the hair was too light, too long. The boy was too small, too, though in another year—

The figure turned, sending the Bludger spiraling to the left, and Jaime caught sight of her face. _Her_ face. He was surprised to find that he recognized her.

Could she really only be a second year? Out in the open she looked more troll than girl, frowning up at the Bludger that had nearly bludgeoned him to death. Her nose was bumpy, her jaw square, and the teeth poking out of her puffy lips were wide and crooked. Her mother must have been part hag.

The witch wound up from the shoulder, hitting the returning Bludger so fiercely that it disappeared from view.

By the Seven, she looked angry. He remembered her as a hulking, skittish thing, rooting through the underbrush and bolting the second she’d gotten caught. If he’d seen her take a swing with that Beater’s bat, he might’ve thought twice before trying to hex her last year.

“Watch it, witch,” he called out the window. He could almost hear Cersei shushing him, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen. “Any harder and someone might think you have something to prove.”

She started and wheeled around, bat dropping to her side. Her whole body seemed to fold in on itself as she scanned the empty courtyard.

_That’s the witch I remember._

Even two stories up, the anxiety on her face was plain. It was a wonder she wasn’t holed up in some dormitory somewhere.

_Cersei was right. Even if she had recognized us, she’d never find her tongue to talk._

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaime saw a speck of black rematerialize from behind a cloud. The witch didn’t notice, her attention diverted as she scanned the windows above her. On instinct he opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late. Her eyes found his a split second before the forgotten Bludger crashed into her shoulder.

For all that she probably deserved it, he couldn’t help but wince as a heavy _crunch_ reverberated up the stone walls. The witch dropped her bat, bracing her shoulder with one hand. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the iron ball as it took another pass at her.

_Quick on her feet_. He wouldn’t’ve thought it from the dumb look on her face when he’d startled her.

The Bludger charged her a third time, catching her arm and spinning her about. She stumbled, off-kilter, and fell heavily to her knees.

Jaime raised his wand — teeth gritting as he moved his right hand instinctively — and aimed a freezing charm at the wild Bludger. It stopped as if suspended in ice, hovering half a foot from the back of the second year’s head.

Her ugly face contorted in a grimace as she turned to look up at him. Jaime didn’t need to get closer to see her arm hanging limp at her side.

_We’re a bloody matched set_ , he thought, glancing down at the broken skin on his wrist. It pulsed dully, as though the thoughtless motion had reminded it to hurt.

He waited until the girl stumbled to her feet, looking dazed but mostly steady. When he was sure she wouldn’t fall over, he pocketed his wand.

“See you in the hospital wing!” He strolled away, feeling a wave of satisfaction at the consternated look on her face. Maybe she’d simply realized that she’d have to visit Qyburn, but Jaime hoped he could take credit for the wide, flat press of her lips.

He was good as new by the time she trudged into the hospital wing, red and sweaty and clenching her huge, crooked teeth. Qyburn hurried out of the back, surreptitiously sliding Jaime a glass of Firewhisky before guiding the girl to the next bed over. Jaime quaffed the drink straight away, promptly thanking the Seven that his little brother wasn’t around to watch him sputter.

“Just a tonic,” Qyburn assured when the witch glanced suspiciously at the empty glass.

Jaime forced down the burn in his throat to crack a grin at her. She went ramrod straight, staring fixedly at a peeling portrait on the wall.

“Right,” the maester said, tugging at her arm in a way Jaime knew hurt like hell. “Fractured scapula. And bruising around the front, I’d expect.”

She didn’t flinch as the wizard set the break and hastily knit her bones back together. He prodded her for a moment, muttering a quick incantation that made the skin on her collarbone bloom purple and green. Jaime watched in fascination as it paled again, the bruise seemingly leached of color by the countless freckles littering her chest.

“Quite an easy remedy,” said Qyburn, tucking away his wand. He really did fetch a tonic for the girl, a murky green substance she eyed uncertainly instead of drinking. “After you’ve finished, you’re free to go,” the maester told her before disappearing back into his office. The door closed heavily behind him.

“Is this your first trip to the hospital wing?” Jaime asked, kicking his legs up onto the bed and leaning back. Mending bones sapped energy, and the Firewhisky had his muscles feeling loose.

Instead of answering, she sipped at the tonic, wrinkling her nose before taking a bigger gulp.

“You can’t be a very good Beater, then.”

“I haven’t tried out,” she muttered into her cup. Her voice echoed hollowly before the potion swallowed the sound.

“Yet,” he finished for her. When she didn’t respond, he entertained himself by continuing, “You’re, what — a Hufflepuff?” Her silence was stony enough to please the One-Eyed Witch, but he knew he was right. She wasn’t clever enough for Slytherin or Ravenclaw, and he’d have known if she were in Gryffindor. “You might as well hang up your bat. You might be freakishly big — and strong,” he amended, mock defensively, when she glared above the rim of her goblet, “— but you don’t have a prayer of ousting Clegane.”

She tilted back her cup, swallowing the dregs of whatever Qyburn had given her, then set the glass firmly on the nightstand. Instead of finding her eyes, Jaime found himself meeting the hard line of her chin. For all her practiced ease around Bludgers and maesters, she acted like she’d been raised by Muggles.

“I’m better than Davos.”

Jaime laughed. “Are you? What he lacks in flash, he makes up for in pigheadedness.” He eyed her, speculative. “You might have a lot in common, actually. I’d pay Galleons to see you try and out-mule him.” His lips twitched. “Not as much as I’d pay to see you lob Bludgers at Clegane, but . . .”

She stood abruptly, wobbling for a second as she adjusted to the lack of pain in her shoulder. Jaime wondered if Qyburn had laced her tonic with dreamwine.

“Easy there,” he cautioned, as the first Order of Medi-Maesters tutted from their frame. “You don’t want Qyburn coming back, trust me.”

“He’s a teacher,” she protested. “He’s— ”

She couldn’t seem to finish politely.

Jaime had no compunctions about rudeness. “Creepy? Unhinged? Sociopathic?” By her sour expression, this witch was either totally naive or raised under a rock. “He’s a ruddy good Mediwizard, but you know he almost went to Azkaban for testing spells on Muggles. Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots.”

“That’s not fair. He wouldn’t be at Hogwarts if that were true.” She frowned. She looked like a gargoyle when she frowned. “You shouldn’t spread rumors.”

“No?” Jaime smiled innocently. “My brother thinks he’s hiding mutant Doxys back there. Want to find out?”

She crossed her arms, clearly stating that she didn’t believe him _or_ care to find out. Jaime rather fancied the thought of exploring, but he let it pass, sliding further down the bed. Maybe he could sneak in a quick nap before meeting Cersei.

For the first time the second year’s eyes landed on the smear of blood drying on his hospital sheets. Her countenance shifted as quickly as it had in the courtyard. “Did I— with that Bludger? I mean— ”

She looked so guilt-ridden he had to laugh. “What if I said yes?” He cushioned his head on his newly-healed arm, looking up at her. “Would you kiss it better?”

She straightened abruptly, spinning on her heel.

“Alright, fine. It wasn’t you,” he called. She kept walking, sidestepping the rickety potions cabinet he’d passed on his way in. Jaime realized with a start that she was almost as tall as him.

“You really might boot Seaworth off the team,” he mused.

She paused, frowning. It was clear she was waiting for an insult, but for once he didn’t have one.

“I bet you’d get in a few good blows against Clegane, too.”

She gnawed her lip for a minute, flushing angrily, before mumbling, “They wouldn’t let me try out.”

_Small wonder_ , Jaime almost said. Inexplicably he thought of Tyrion, 5 years old and curled up in an armchair. _They won’t let me play._

The memory numbed his tongue.

The girl shuffled awkwardly. She’d barely spoken two dozen words, but she seemed to regret every one of them.

“I’ve been trying out some new handling techniques.” The words came from some part of him he’d buried deep, a part Tyrion hadn’t needed since he’d come to Hogwarts. “If you want to keep some Bludgers off my back, I could let you practice.”

It occurred to Jaime that he truly meant it. He really wouldn’t mind seeing what this stupid, stubborn second year could do. The thought almost made him recede his offer.

“What’s your name, witch?” he said instead.

She studied the floor, arms still crossed, but less tightly now. “Brienne Tarth,” she said almost reluctantly.

_Tarth_. His father had mentioned a Tarth once. Some cautionary tale about a pureblood who’d run off with a Muggleborn’s brother.  

“Brienne Tarth,” he repeated, rolling the name around his mouth. He could almost taste a mocking cadence lingering in the back of his throat. “I’m Jaime Lannister.”

“I know.”

He pushed up on the bed, a cocky smile blooming on his lips. The words, _Of course you know_ , rose to his tongue with the ease of practice.

Her eyes skittered sideways to fix on an elderly Mediwitch bustling around a tarnished frame.

_She knows_.

Jaime’s fingers twitched for his wand.

_She_ knows _,_ Tyrion repeated in his head, _and she’s kept quiet all this time. No need to prod the Snargaluff, brother._

Jaime forced a careless smile. “Do you now? Tell me, did you learn any new tricks?” She was still angled toward the picture, but her eyes darted toward him, judging. He made a show of looking her up and down, eyes lingering on the flat chest beneath her robes. “Shame you’ll never get to try them out.”

Her shoulders stiffened, starting a chain reaction that transformed her from an awkward schoolgirl to an angry cat backed into a corner. She whirled, half stumbling, half stomping as she fled the hospital wing.

Jaime flopped back against the bed. Outside the window, the fading sun silhouetted the Owlery against a colorless countryside.

_Happy birthday_ , he thought sourly.

He hauled himself to his feet, intent on finding Cersei and pulling her into a broom cupboard somewhere. If she was worried about getting caught, they could bloody stay locked in there until curfew cleared the corridors.

Brienne Tarth’s dull, judging stare lingered obstinately in the back of his mind.

He should’ve hexed her when he had the chance.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please take a moment to let me know :)


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